


I Can't Help This Awful Energy

by letmesaveyourlife



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Coyote Malia Tate, Dark Malia Tate, Malia's POV, Other, Teen Wolf, WereCoyote, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:10:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5779975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmesaveyourlife/pseuds/letmesaveyourlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malia's POV from the night she shifted into a werecoyote.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can't Help This Awful Energy

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: There is dark and graphic content including gore, blood and violence during the description of the Tate family car accident. Please be careful if you find yourself uncomfortable with such topics!
> 
> Also, I was listening to "Control" by Halsey while writing this.

The moon, with its luminous and milky glow, was at its fullest in the night sky illuminating the winding road on the chilly night the Tates were driving along the preserve. The path was ominously vacant. Malia was feeling moody all day — all week, even — but the viscous rage inside of her was beginning to take her over from the inside.

Her younger sister sat beside her in the backseat, giggling and playing with her doll when Malia started feeling sick to her stomach. The gaping moon was almost as blinding as the headlights on a truck that seemed to be heading their way from the opposite direction — was it stopped in the middle of the road? — Malia couldn’t pay much attention, beginning to panic. The moon. It was making her feel sick. Her labored breaths came more heavily and her childlike voice was different; it didn’t sound like her at all when she cried out. Instead, an almost ANIMALISTIC snarl took its place.

And then her mom and sister screamed when the car violently swerved off the road. The glass on the window crackled and shattered, followed by several loud noises and Malia felt something in her body twist and change.

She didn’t know what was happening.

Her gaze shifted to Evelyn’s hands on the wheel for a moment, then to the interior sides of the car doors. She felt trapped; claustrophobic and nauseated. Something was wrong with her. Blurred vision, canine-sounding growls and the morphing of nails into monstrous CLAWS took place and it was starting to feel like Malia was having a nightmare. Her anger — she couldn’t **c o n t r o l** it, she felt the horrible and sickening impulse to RIP flesh and tear at the closest life forms, her mother and sister being in the car with her. And that’s when the last frantic shriek was given before the collision with a tree. The car tilted, flipping over and the next thing Malia knew was that she should have been DEAD.

Blood. The scent of blood filled Malia’s senses.

Then came the shock that settled in upon the realization that a terrible change had taken place, and Malia wasn’t Malia anymore. She was on all fours, slinking over her dead mother’s lap and crawling her way out of the mangled Tate car through the space in an open window. Paws had appeared where her small hands should have been and her screaming had turned to SNARLING & snapping that hushed as she turned back to the mess. Moist, leathery nostrils sniffed at the bloodied body, only feeding Malia’s desire to BITE and to KILL and she had no control. She couldn’t resist, and low growls came from bared fangs before she gave in and began to claw at the lifeless arm. She was hungry, a kind of hunger she hadn’t known but NEEDED to fulfill and her teeth tore into pale skin when she invaded the Tate vehicle once again and the rest was a blurred montage of blood.

She padded out onto the crunching leaves with dirt covering her paws as she lifted her head to the inauspicious full moon, once mocha pigmented eyes now glazed over with lunacy. An unearthly HOWL echoed into the night with a visible puff of breath into the frosted air. Malia was made into a MONSTER.

Malia Tate had turned into a coyote. A mystical potency, one Malia didn't even know existed, had changed her from a human child into an animal and she had become trapped inside. In a wild frenzy, Malia didn't know what to do. So she ran. She ran through the woods as fast as she could, far away from the chilling scene of the accident. Far away from her dead family. The family she killed. Canine paws carried her swiftly along the rural moonlit trails lined with oak trees and gnarled woodland shrubs, deep into the night where she paced around for three nights in solitude and wondered how she was going to live. The woods would serve as her home, and every path walked along seemed to bring her back to the blue Tate car — the sanguine, mauled remains of her mother and sister still lying undiscovered inside.

It slowly crept up on her — the GUILT. Malia did this. The crash itself might not have been fatal, but she nearly devoured them out of pure insanity. They were gone. Gone, dead and never coming back because she HURT them. The coyote carefully moved on her toes as if to quell the sound of her paws crushing the leaves beneath her as she moved closer to the wreck. A hopeful part of her wished they were just sleeping, that there was still a vital sign from at least one of them. But she sensed no heartbeat. Only the bitter, repulsive scent of dried blood forming a crust on pallid skin that now made her feel sick. She pawed at her mother's hand with glassy chocolate hues, scrabbling at her with her claws digging into the fabric of her blouse in effort to wake her up only to create more unnecessary wounds.

         "Mom, please wake up... _Mom_... WAKE UP! COME BACK! BE ALIVE!"

Malia whimpered and whined, pleading for a reaction but there was no movement. She wanted to cry but tears were no longer a canine characteristic. Instead, her yips and yelps evolved into a long and high-pitched cry that echoed throughout Beacon Hills. They were dead. And it was all her fault.

She turned around, disappearing into the dark and spacious hole which she claimed as her den. This was where she slept with the cries of the other coyotes, hooting owls, crickets and the occasional howls of wolves as her lullaby. She hid from the world, in a shadowy cavern where she would exist mysteriously as the enigmatic lunar creature she became and so despised. She would never face her father again or try to let him know she was inside the shape of the coyote, not after what she did to her family. It was best he assumed she was dead, because she could never be part of his family again without the overwhelming feeling of self-disgust and hatred after the car crash. She was an animal now, in more ways than one.


End file.
